sitting on beaches

Old people sit quietly on beaches, and children play. Children have fun, while adults sit and watch and wish they were children again.  So I imagined, at least.

For many years, I have judged the “age” of a person, rather, their capacity for childish merriment, by the level of activity and excitement around water. 

When my husband and I were dating, we happened to be near the ocean during a rainstorm.  I was energized, delighted; I forced him to swim with me in the rain in the ocean.  It was a test of sorts. He passed.  (He later failed the dancing test, but I was so hooked at that point I did not care.)

The hours spent playing in the cool waves of Lake Michigan are some of my favorite experiences.   Years later, I returned with my children to that place, and played with them as they experienced this delight for the first time.  Oh the squealing, giggling!  The cool clear water over heads, in ears, in noses!  Sand in all parts!  Children clinging in fear and splashing in delight!  Adrenaline and roar of waves crashing!

 I jumped, dove, frolicked with them, new memories mixing with the old, sparkling and engulfing me.

I played hard, but then I had to sit down.  Rather, I wanted to sit down.  I wanted to still my body so I could better watch their happy little bodies. 

Gifts received by my own children are in a way more wonderful than any gift given directly to me.  I sat in the sun, let sand run through my fingers, and watched the gifts of God being given to my babies.   WOW, He actually did it AGAIN!  And He blessed THEM, my own sweet babies!

I sat, and I saw grace in the water, sun, air, waves.  Soft sand on my feet, squeals in my ears, joy overpowering, radiant grace pouring into all senses and all corners of my heart; Oh God, you are good to your children!

Children experience with their hands, their bodies, right in the midst of it.  Adults observe, we remember our times of bodily experience, and see it all over again, and more clearly, as it is poured on others.  This God who loves us, He knows how to give good gifts.

And then, grace upon grace, HIM, my dear husband right there in the water with our babies.  The one God brought back from Iraq, here with our children, experiencing and delighting.  He caught my eye, wondering with a smile, did I see that epic battle of boy vs. wave?  Did I see our superhero eating sand and laughing?  He smiled the smile he used in college to win my heart, and that smile is full of more memories and more love now.

Overpowering joy, grace received by all the senses, flooding heart and mind, making me stagger… making me need to sit down for a minute.

I do not sit because I am old and weary, not today.
Today, I am forced to sit because the crashing rush of grace has engulfed my being and knocked me over.

I need a second to catch my breath.

(originally posted 7/2011. This flavor of God's grace re-gifted again today in 2019.)

It is warm here.

6/7/13

You all got up before me today, as you have done all week. It’s the first week of summer, and I am tired. I sat on the couch with my coffee, and this morning, it was Seth who got to me first. Seth, of all the children the most independent, the least likely to need his mom. Seth, snuggling in to me, resting on me in a way that will disappear when he is grown.  Lately I have caught glimpses of that day, that grown-up day, in his eyes, in our mature conversations.  But on this morning, he relaxed in to me, and I put my arm on his pajama’d leg. 

It is not so often that we snuggle like this, you and me. Today, I can see the young man you are becoming, and I know this moment is fleeting. Is this an exception, this moment of need, this moment where you welcome my embrace? Or have you simply played the role of the big brother, and played it well? Have you moved aside, and allowed my lap to be taken by the younger ones?

But it is not taken now, and I do not dare move, even though my coffee is gone. “Mama, put your arm back on my leg. It’s warm when you do that,” you say, and I do.  It is warm here.

I consider your hair, and the size of your feet. I consider the God who made you, wanting warmth on this unusual day, and the God who made me, wanting to give it.          

(An excerpt from My Gilead) 

Sleeps

Two images overlap in my mind. In both, Aggie sleeps in the van.

To Aggie,

(an excerpt from My Gilead)

Recently, we were on our way home from Brown County State Park.  It had been a heavenly spring evening, an outing with the whole family (even daddy.) You, Aggie, were worried about being gone from home for the evening. Your homework was done, but you had extra credit work that you so wanted to do. You so desire to win the reading competition that you will sacrifice fun for more “minutes-read.” We forced you to put down the book to play at the park. You complained, but then you forgot to complain, and you allowed yourself to be swept up in the evening.

On the way home, I saw your eyes drooping a bit. I smiled to your daddy, and we wondered aloud if you’d actually sleep instead of gathering more minutes. Driven child that you are, we both assumed you wouldn’t, but this time, your body’s needs won out over your hearts desires, and you slept.

And I was proud of you, for letting the tasks go.

The strength of mind and of body you have now is not unlimited, but it is great. 

It has not always been this way.

I remembered another nap in the van.

I wish I didn’t have to know that a clamp held your head during the brain surgery, but those bruises on your head reminded me. You called them “polka-dots.” and you didn’t seem to mind them.

You slept deeply then, as we filled prescriptions and stole glances at you. 

Is she really ok? Is she still our little Aggie? Do we dare hope? 

Hope threatened me, scared me.

The shadows scare me still, yet how quickly you scatter them with your enormous Aggie-smile.

I shall lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:8

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“I wish I could leave you certain images in my mind, because they are so beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am. …It is a strange thing, after all, to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing.  

A moment is such a slight thing, I mean, that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.” 

Gilead, p.162

The perfect dose

Afternoon sun, children playing, but my Little Man is grumpy.

He climbs up, snot-covered, begging for a place on my lap. I wrap him in my arms and my jacket.

He rests, a content comfort-taker, in my arms.

He is wrapped in the warmth of mom and God.

We hide together from the cool breeze.  The perfect dose of sunshine rests on us, and we see no reason to move.  My wedding ring reflects rainbows, but I think of this boy, and his forever-life, made to last longer even than the diamond I wear.  I hold this life in its small beginnings, this little, eternal life.  

A gust of wind reaches his bare legs, and he complains.  I fix his small problem, gladly, and he rests again.

On my lap and in my care I feel the light weight of a little boy. But what is the weight of his life, his eternal soul?  I cannot comprehend the gravity of this moment, this vocation. I fear it would crush me if I could.

Yet at this moment, his heaviness does not oppress.

My son and my God have surrounded me with gentle, forever-warmth.

I receive the sun in its perfect dose, and I am also a comfort-taker.

Fall Sprawl

The stifling heat of summer broke suddenly this week.

We breathe in cool air like fresh life. 

We spend an afternoon at the park, and I have energy for swing-pushing and chasing. I run until my legs shake, and they all keep running as I sit.  I am old enough to have to catch my breath, but at least I am young enough to run with them at all.

The breeze cools me quickly, and even after my exercise, I welcome the mild warmth of the sun. My seat on the sidewalk is warm and pleasant, and soon sitting turns to lying, and I sprawl my old/young body flat on the sidewalk.
The sun shines on all of me.

Soon I am spotted by little boys fighting, all of them right, all of them needing my defense.
In the middle of their grievances they stop, seeing me sprawled on the sidewalk.  

This is an odd place for a mother, I think they think. 

With smiles they sprawl beside me. The sun melts away their complaints for a moment.

Cement makes a lousy pillow, but boy heads find homes on my belly. 
Three heads on the soft belly stretched for them and by them.

The sun warms us all, and as we watch clouds, I feel the lovely weight of life pressing down on my body and heart.

anxiety in the car

When we drive, I sit at attention. I try not to worry but I do worry, especially when the road is narrow and the drop off is steep. I listen to music and look up at the trees passing by and I don’t actively think of tragedy, but sometimes it comes in flashes. It comes uninvited. The image of the far slipping off the road, rolling down the hill; broken glass and blood and could I even reach my cell phone? 

spring boys

"I don't reach forward and I don't reach back 

and I weigh the moment down with full attention here."

One Thousand Gifts, by Anne Voskamp

Fresh spring air. 

I am drawn out of the house, camera in hand;

boys at my ankles.

Let's capture some of this life in bloom.

Pretty, aren't they Pete? 

Don't pick them.

Don't eat them.

Just enjoy them.

I like these purple flowers.

I remember looking for signs of spring, like these,

with my mommy.

I lay on the ground to take the above picture.

New life, new flowers, and my fuzzy little boy-chick in the background.

What's mommy doing on the ground? he wonders.

She must want to wrestle.

He climbs on me.

My camera and my heart focus on him.

Do you see fish in there?

Please Marcus, don't push him in!

Yes, the water is wet.

And cold.

Marcus!

Stay away!

Gross!!!

I smile, click, and give thanks.

I am a squirrel, storing moments.

“I wish I could leave you certain images in my mind, 

because they are so beautiful that I hate to think 

they will be extinguished when I am. 

…It is a strange thing, after all, to be able to return to a moment, 

when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing.  

A moment is such a slight thing, I mean, that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.” 

Gilead, Marilynne Robinson 

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at least he's happy

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A heart with room for all people, and their buddies too.

The more the merrier, says Aggie, and that applies to people and stuffed animals, too.  This girl just loves her buddies.

Last week I was busy and grumpy in the morning, trying to hurry through the list of needs and get them out the door for school.

Aggie hurries too, but she stays cheerful and creative even in a rush.  That day, she brought one of her buddies to school for show and tell.  She found a fun way for him to ride, peeking out of her backpack so it could see.

"Mommy, look at my buddy mommy! Can you take a picture of it?" Her voice reached me through the other voices clamoring for me, but her request was not as urgent as the diaper leak and the mess and the fighting boys.

look!

Among (many) other things today... these kids found big pieces of Styrofoam in the front yard by the trash and decided to use them to make "snow!"

I have so many reasons to grumble today.

But God knows what I need, too, and he gave me one moment to keep me going...

God, please don't let my inner complaints obscure my vision completely. Help me to see them. 

From where I'm standing I see weeds.

From where I'm standing I see:

A weedy pile of kindness.

The kids were jumping on the trampoline. They begged me to come with them. I needed to get just one more thing done, so I shoo'd them all outside so I could concentrate. I took my time. I needed a break from the little ones who had been fighting all morning.

Just a few minutes passed, and the door opened. "What do you need?" I grumbled. I really needed to concentrate. I really wanted quiet.

"Here mommy, I got this for you." My little boy set a dandelion on the table and then headed quietly outside again.
"That's nice honey, thanks."
I go back to work.
Again, the door.
Again, a flower from a different child.
A reminder that they are waiting.
The door, another flower.
A pile of flowers. A demand for a vase.
Squeaking door, running feet, tiny child with a pile of flowers and a smile.
A demand for an explanation of why dandelion heads with no stems can't live in a vase.
An open window for the flowers, so they can "enjoy the sunshine and fresh air."
A satisfied smile, and another gentle reminder that they are waiting for me on the trampoline.

I still needed a break, and I still wanted to concentrate.

But they won me over with weedy kindness.

click.

 “He sure is a lively one, isn’t he?”

The little guy flashes his dimples, as if he knows exactly what gained him freedom from the pew.

I set him down in the narthex. He drags his blanket cheerfully as he runs from me.

My four year old is at my side. He was not being naughty in church, but I know better than to trust him in the pew while I am out with the baby. He is also lively.

Baby has discovered the heaters, and opens the control panel.  His dimples dare me to stop him.

Pretty sure his little hands are not strong enough to turn the knobs, I stay seated. I close my eyes, a little, and try to catch a word or two of the sermon.

 My four year old does not. He decides to climb the scaffolding. Baby sees, squeals, and runs with his blanket to join him. He trips, cries. Big kid swings and laughs. They are SO loud.

FINE.

We go outside.

Of course, they don’t want to run outside. It’s dark, and a little “creepy,” says my son.

Actually, the evening is gorgeous. A spring breeze passes over us, and stars twinkle above us. The night is as calm and soothing as I wish my boys were.

The temperature is warm enough to taste like spring, but just cool enough that I would be chilled without somebody in my arms.

I sit with my little somebody, and his blanket, on the cool cement steps.

My climber no longer wishes to climb. He’s cold, and a little scared. He sits on the other side of me, and leans into me. The baby sees his big brother snuggling, and smiles. He reaches with his tiny hand and pats his brother’s head. Brother is flattered and happy, and they both snuggle closer.

Warm, calm, like the night, they snuggle into me.

I breathe them in, grateful.

I exhale.

The moment is gone.

The tiny hand has decided his brother’s head makes a great drum. Brother thinks it is funny, too. Baby grabs brother’s lip, brother softly bites, and they share a slobbery laugh.

I roll my eyes and smile as I gently scoot them off my lap.

You don’t understand, but you gave me the still photo I needed. 


I capture things when I breathe them in, and I have stored that sweet breath of grace in my heart.

You can go play, now, little ones.

--------  


Remember last week when my sister shared her awesome post "Scatter the Darkness?"
I am pleased to announce that she has started her own blog!

She takes my breath away...or is it God's work in her?  Yes, that too.

See what I mean: visit her blog Scatter My Darkness today!

Jump up, jump up and get down! Jump around!

From where I'm standing I see...

My baby on a trampoline.

Smiling at me, innocent and happy.

"Wow, mom, I didn't expect to see you down there!

What a nice surprise!!!"

From where I'm standing laying down I see...

Those dimples and curls!

slobber on the trampoline

I feel...

shaky legs from bouncing 

spring in the ground--green grass under my back

grateful to be healthy enough to live this life today

I see...

A boy, so innocent, he does not know what comes next when I do this...

I do as mothers should. I give my child "wings!"

bahahaha!

I bounce my children in the air sometimes, singing AYO...

Her song.

She is intent on finding her place in the hymnal, and putting the ribbons where they need to go.  Then, we sing.  The church sings loudly, so I cannot hear her voice.  But I hold her close, and I feel the song vibrating through her. 

Aggie sings. "Great is Thy Faithfulness."

It seems like her voice starts in her heart and reverberates through her entire body.

I imagine her voice, her faith, sounding from her heart and filling mine.

She reminds me, "All I have needed, Thy hand has provided."

Great is Thy Faithfulness, Lord, Unto Me.

------------------------------------

See also: How's Aggie?

Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story by Emily Cook

 Now available on Amazon.com $9.99 kindle $4.99

Barnes and Noble epub  $4.99

Birthday joy

From where I'm standing I see...

• My baby girl that magically grew 9
• Friends behind her, all around her
• Dizzy 'tweens who just rolled down a grassy hill in the dark
• Sparkling bright stars over the fields behind our house
• not much else, because it is really, really dark out here

I feel...

• out of breath from our game of zombie tag. (These girls run much faster than my short legged boys.)
• happy to breathe in this fresh-airy joy with these girls

From where I'm standing, I see...

• That smile, that just made all the party-planning worth it.

dress rehearsal

They really are growing up.

Yesterday my oldest daughter discovered the box of fancy little-girl dresses that no longer fit her or her sister.

"Oh mommy! I remember wearing this dress!" she cried as she held the dress (size 2T) up to her almost 9-year-old self. "I wish I could wear this again today for our Valentine's Day dinner!"

"Well honey, I guess you should have thought of that before you grew up like you did." I joked.

"Mommy!" she rolled her eyes. "I can't help it you know!"

She can't help it, I know. I thought of this as I returned to my ironing. None of us can help it.  

My selfish desire to stay in little land with my babies is simply ignored. I pretend this is fine.

"Mommy, don't give this dress away, ok?" She knows me to well. "You have to save it- because when I grow up and move out of the house, I want to have it to put on my little girl someday."

I smile and promise.

I do a dress rehearsal, practicing letting-go in this little act. I pretend I can see it-- that day when she's out of the house-- and I pretend it will be easy to smile and pass on the frilly treasures for the next generation.

the above-mentioned dress.

seems like yesterday...

this actually was yesterday :)

"Now I can see that children are as light as air.  

They float past you, nudging against you like balloons as they ascend."

(S Fisher. read more here.)

that moment when you should be mad but you grab the camera instead...

I'd been The Wall for Little Boys to Bash Their Heads Upon all day long.  

I was sore, and tired, and I had lost the ability to respond to "crisis." 

I was numb, and a little loopy (from all the head-bashing, I'm sure.)

It was not a scream, but a suspicious crinkle that tore me from my therapeutic blogging..

And behold, I saw this:

From where I'm standing, I see:

A Cheerio Disaster

with Saggy Pants

A boy who thinks he's very clever,

but knows he should be in trouble.

He's wondering why mom is giggling like that...

He doesn't care. He poses proudly.

Then, he slips.

From where I'm standing I see

a boy scared and a tiny bit humbled.

(by the fall, not the exposed bottom).

Whole Grain. 

Great for eating and decorating.

Great for skating, and falling.

Why not just make a Cheerio angel while you're down there, sonny?

From where I'm standing I see:

the price of blogging.

getting ready...

 From where I'm standing I see...

someone who thinks he is very clever.

• Boys that can't go anywhere while I shop-vac the front of the van. Genius.
• A baby who seems to think the back of the van is his own personal dance floor.
• Smudgy windows. I doubt I will get to those.
• My baby who knows he can disarm me with those dimples.
• Boys NOT touching each other, or yelling about someone touching someone. (I think I snapped the only moment like this in the entire morning.)
• Kids who have no idea they are going on vacation soon! (please don't spoil the surprise!)
• Kids who should suspect something is strange because mommy is cleaning the van and nobody even threw up in it first.
• A van that is going to have to contain a LOT of energy for a many hours...

From where I'm standing I suspect...

that it is going to be a trying car ride.

But maybe not- with your help!

Keep those good questions coming!

Joy in the snow

From where I'm standing I see...

• my first baby
• a young lady in bloom
• a little brother with cold ears
• footprints from the other kiddos
• a girl about to get tackled with a snowball (by me!)
• a picture daddy loves... and I remind myself to tell him to tell her that, because she is getting to that age when it is so good for a little girl to be told by her daddy that she is lovely.

I feel...

• birthday snow on my cheeks
• cold feet from soggy boots
• joy in the first snow of the year
• delight in watching all six of my little snow playmates
• happy that I snapped this moment
• ready to put the camera down and frolic with them!

sympathizing with my food

All pretty and ready for Christmas!

And then, the feast.

And the after-feast crash.

I feel a little bit like this gingerbread house today.

I'll be going light on the blogging this week :)